


"I Wasn't Thinking of Mr. Bates."

by R_Clearwater



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: A Series 1 deviation, F/M, Gen, Yup -- my quotation titles are making a comeback!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clearwater/pseuds/R_Clearwater
Summary: I was thinking of you.
Relationships: Charles Carson & Elsie Hughes, Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> That moment when you rewatch a Series 1 scene (01x06) and realize it could take on an entirely different, Chelsie-centered perspective….
> 
> (And, to Life Found an Abbey fans, that will be up by the end of today! This plot bunny merely demanded I post this first so I could fully focus on refining today's update.)

Charles Carson really wished he hadn't been a witness to that atrocity from before. That he hadn't been privy to ghastly news today, that those repellant words were not committed to his memory.

Unfortunately, locking the door wouldn't keep the world out.

It wouldn't stop the discomfort, the disquiet that had settled over him.

It would only remind him that he was still bothered by it all.

"I wish you'd tell me what's troubling you." She shouldn't have snuck up on him, not now. He couldn't shield himself when she did that, couldn't keep her from seeing everything running through his thoughts. He could only stiffen in defense, hoping that nothing was given away. "If it's this business with Mr. Bates..."

She was kind to think him concerned about the valet.

"No, it's not that." Charles needed to retreat, he couldn't stand here with her so close, so able to see everything. "I'll get to the bottom of that."

Truly, Bates had been one of the last things on his mind.

"Well, I hope you'll do it soon. If there's one thing I hate, it's an 'atmosphere'," The butler detachedly nodded at the statement, relieved he made it to his chair. His chair would provide stability, it would allow him to manage this conversation as long as he needed. They would be interrupted soon enough, it was inevitable in this house. "And we've got a real atmosphere going now. It's an unfair rumour which needs to be scotched!"

Charles had somewhat caught the sound housekeeper's sentiment over his dismal thoughts, the man well accustomed to that tone of hers. However, he had long since dismissed the enigma that was John Bates' situation of late. Rather, he found himself lost to the words of today's gossip, the machinations that had bred incessant, unfounded rumours.

Those were the rumours that needed to be scotched.

"It's very hard to hear the names of people you love dragged in the mud." He couldn't help these words, a sense of incapability drawing his gaze to anything but her. Why today existed, why it had played out the way it did, he would never find out. There was only one thing he did understand from it all: "You feel so powerless."

"Well," Mrs. Hughes inwardly churned over his statement, a naïve confusion peppering her tone. In other words, she hadn't a clue what he was on about, "I respect Mr. Bates, but I'm not sure I love him."

"I wasn't thinking of Mr. Bates." _I was thinking of you._

She gave him another look, her initial tease fading the longer their eyes held each other. He wasn't backing down from her inquiring stare this time, his frustration at the day's events traversing through the air, plain enough for any and all to see.

Yet the longer this staring contest continued, the longer it became obvious she really hadn't a clue what was on his mind.

And why should she?

Mrs. Hughes hadn't been there to witness the scathing remarks he caught wind of. The housekeeper had no idea of what he'd heard in the Village today, of what people were whispering about her. How, practically a year ago, that ruddy farmer of her –– Joe Burns, a name he wished he'd never heard, not having learned it 'till today –– had apparently spent his last night at Downton in the pub, drunkenly spinning outrageous tales about the woman, lapping up malice alongside his drink.

But the worst part wasn't the fact these gossips today clutched at tales spoken a year ago. The worst part was that these stories were believed. That, as he had caught a glimpse of today, these tales were held as fact and brought forth to judge the woman at any given moment. That some were even going so far as to compare her supposed stories to theirs, using it to justify their disdain.

The butler knew any story had to be false, seeing as how Mrs. Hughes was far more respectable than all of that. However, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disillusionment with every passing second. Couldn't help but wonder why these bullies had the urge to lash out toward others, why they felt they needed to shroud themselves in cruel lies about decent people, and for such a long period of time.

"Mr. Carson?"

But, most of all, he didn't understand why it had to be about _her_.

Charles looked up at the woman, deeply bemused. If her curiosity remained unanswered for much longer, he knew he would be in for quite the interrogation. However, despite being fully aware of that fact, the man didn't know how to broach the subject. Nor had he been able to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why he was so incensed.

Scandal of any sort toward any member of the staff or family did tend to cause upset for him, there was no doubt about that. However, he hadn't felt "upset". Only an immense outrage over the insinuations he'd heard today.

Outrage and a bursting sense of ire that demanded he correct each and every rumour.

But he couldn't tell her that, not now.

Certainly not when he wasn't sure of her reaction.

While it was incredibly probable she would dismiss any vexation on his part as his being "unnecessarily gallant" or some such nonsense, there was another possibility. That was the possibility of any unusual irritation on his part would result in further inquiries. That it would turn into a conversation questioning why exactly he felt the need to defend her, why he was so provoked by these vicious comments.

That was the real problem, the most disquieting part of the whole business.

He didn't know why he felt the way he did.

Only that these were his feelings.

A sharp, repetitive knock interrupted either possibility, garnering their attention instantaneously. Whatever Daisy had said upon opening the door was lost to the man, even as he belatedly heard Mrs. Hughes try to shoo the girl away.

"What is it, Daisy? Mr. Carson's a very busy man."

That the kitchen maid stayed was both a blessing and a curse. Clearly, it was a blessing for having interrupted what was certainly becoming an awkward moment he wouldn't have been able to escape. However, Daisy's unwitting interruption did reek of a curse, if only because it thoroughly confused the man.

"I know he is, but I think he'll want to hear this."

Here he was, quite possibly being given some sort of answer to a mystery that had disturbed the inner workings of the house. The butler was being handed a chance to solve another issue, an opportunity to quell the budding atmosphere that no one wanted about.

And, still, his thoughts remained fixed on Elsie.

_Elsie?_ The man bewilderedly repeated the name, having never called her that before. This really was becoming quite the mystery.

But, if he wanted to solve that mystery he really needed to concentrate on the matter at hand.

Luckily, the kitchen maid had more to say, finally explaining herself: "I told you something that wasn't true."

_Well, you certainly haven't been the only one to speak of untruths. Though I suppose, in the case of today, I wasn't directly told about those––_

_Hold on a minute._ "Why would you do that?"

"I did it as a favour for a friend," Daisy nervously mustered up the words, struggling enough he couldn't hold her responsible, no matter how foolish the lie was. She wasn't a part of the world he wanted to lock out of his life; she was only a young woman still finding her place in it all. "But I know now he was wrong to ask it of me."

Charles took in the words as impartially as he could, turning to the housekeeper when it became clear he needed to react. That he felt indifferent to the fact that Daisy had lied, that he was even sympathetic to the kitchen maid's plight, it all spoke of something being changed for him. It told him that torment was not the only thing today had brought.

If only he knew exactly what that meant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, yeah, so maybe I stayed up a little late again... and maybe it was only supposed to be 1,000 words, give or take. More officially canon dialogue, though with a proper deviation by the end of it! Either way, I hope you enjoy!

The whole Bates incident sorted it out like a loose scrap of thread –– cutting straight to the point settled most of the situation. And while the rest of that thread was liable to escape again, seeing as how it was already beginning to do just that, Charles didn't particularly care about stitching any of it back up.

" _Loose scrap of thread"? "Cutting straight to the point"? "Stitching any of it back up"?_ Really, he needn't be so poetic. Certainly not when he was in the middle of ensuring Mrs. Hughes would not be going into the Village today.

Which, speaking of, "You're sure you've the time to fetch a few things, Mr. Carson?"

It was archly spoken, less of a question and more of a demand for an explanation. That he was handing over this atypical offer didn't cause suspicion per se. Rather, it managed to stir up intrigue for the inquisitive woman. He could hear her thoughts as plain as day: certainly, with the start of the Season only days away, the butler had better things to do?

"I'm sure." Charles affirmed, knowing that he'd said enough. Now it was a matter of waiting for her answer. If he badgered her into accepting, he would only lose this opportunity and any future ones.

The real question now was, would she accept?

He knew the Mrs. Hughes was considering the possibility that he thought her incapable of running a few errands –– that, with all the pressure with the garden party still months away and everything else, she couldn't maintain her normal standards. Well, that simply wasn't true. And he hoped she would come to realize otherwise.

Whatever his reasoning was, it was not due to incapability.

The man really didn't know what had prompted him to concoct this plan. Only that some time had passed since that day in the Village and he remained inordinately bothered by the situation –– so much so that, when she mentioned her errands, he immediately offered to handle them personally.

But none of his help stemmed from a belief of incapability. He merely wished to spare the woman any unnecessary trouble, that was all. And he could only hope that she would recognize this. That the housekeeper would recognize his truth and allow him to ease this trivial burden from her shoulders.

"All right," Charles was drawn from the floor back to her eyes, eyes that were puzzled yet accepting of the proposition. He couldn't help but let a smile sneak into his gaze, delight running through him at the very thought of helping her in this way. When the man realized she'd noticed his reaction, trickles of amusement beginning to line her musings, a sheepish quality overtook his demeanour. "I suppose it can't hurt to accept."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

_Truly._

_._

When Mr. Carson had first volunteered to take charge of her errands, Elsie hadn't thought much of it. She'd been a little confused, seeing as how he'd not done it before, certainly not in recent years. Initially, she thought he'd lost his marbles and reckoned her incapable of doing her job for reasons she would never know. However, a brief conversation with the butler had assured her he had not taken leave of his senses. And though she still lacked an answer as to _why_ he was offering this in the first place, the whole interaction had been so brief she found she didn't need an answer.

That is, she found she didn't require an answer until it happened again.

Harmlessly, days later, minutes after she mentioned her upcoming errands at breakfast, Mr. Carson made that same proposition once more. The man had done his best to casually state the idea, but he really was a hopeless liar, revealing that there had to be something behind this.

Still, Elsie knew it was going to be a long enough day without a jaunt into the Village. When she woke this morning and remembered the preparations for the Season, sorting out the garden party, handling Mrs. Patmore and her sight, not to mention the normal tasks of the season... well, thinking of additional errands only brought a weight to the woman. One that incessantly tightened across her chest –– forcing her breath to shorten for the entire morning, her back aching from burdens before her.

That he endeavoured to help made a difference.

She just wished she knew _why_.

Why he offered twice now. Why she would normally protest it from anyone else, but from him it was a welcomed change. Why she gave into the suggestion without any legitimate fight, her normal pride smoothly stepping to the side to accept the idea. Why, this time in particular, she wanted to counter his offer with one of her own –– that they'd take the time to walk down into the Village the two of them.

_That_ in itself was an extraordinarily impertinent thought! Not only was it lunacy to walk down together at a time like this, it also bordered on a risqué proposition.

But, then again, how exactly did it teeter into a salacious realm? They'd walked together for errands on a few occasions before and it had all been perfectly respectable. Why would this be any different?

"Mrs. Hughes?"

Her toasted rested in her hand, apparently not the only thing waiting for the woman.

"Your offer is acceptable, Mr. Carson." Oh, she needn't treat this like a business venture! He was only requesting to complete a few tasks for her, nothing more. But if she blustered about with her words now, she would only confuse the man further. Mind, the butler already looked rather lost when it came to the wording of her last statement, his head slightly tilting in confusion, his eyebrows beginning to furrow. Indeed, he looked to be a quarter of a minute away from speaking before ultimately deciding to refrain.

Probably for the best.

Elsie personally needed to come to an understanding as to why she herself had thought this all risqué. Why her heart tripped into a faster pace at these innocent suggestions, why she found herself _wanting_ to make such indecent suggestions as walking down together. There was no time for those sorts of thoughts, and considering just who they revolved around –– well, she could only blame all of this on the stress that continually gripped the household.

Surely, there was nothing else to it?

_._

The Season came and went. A triumph, as always. Yet, for once, that triumph was peculiarly lacking. Charles hadn't been able to explain that nor the emptiness that had stalked him throughout it all. Helping to ensure Lady Sybil's presentation was successful should've been a thrill. Watching the family effortlessly maneuver through society should've given him satisfaction.

It only revealed that something was missing.

And it was only once he was finally by her side once again, trailing respectfully behind the housekeeper down familiar steps, that he realized what was missing.

"––how was London?" Charles hadn't caught the full inquiry, but could figure it out well enough.

"Much as usual." _Except, not._ "Dirty, noisy, and quite enjoyable."

But had it really been? The butler's smile felt as fleeting as his enjoyment of the city, matching his sentiment toward this particular Season.

"There was no need for you to come back a day early." _Yes, there was._ "I'm perfectly capable of..."

She had finished her statement in peace, yes. There had been no chaotic interruptions, nothing to silence the woman. Her words had merely been lost to the man the moment her hand grazed his –– the accidental touch something he relished in as his eyes continued to embrace the sight of her by his side once again.

Of course, whether he heard the rest of her words or not, he knew an answer was expected of him.

Piecing together that her statements hinted at her insecurity about being seen as capable, something that could never be true and something they would have to talk about one day, "Of course you are."

_I could never think anything else._

She was one of the most capable and competent women he'd ever known –– it was why he felt so wronged by the realization that others couldn't see it. Joe Burns, who had tried to marry her for all the wrong reasons and who couldn't recognize how much the world had changed her. The gossips who couldn't see her brilliance as it truly was. Himself for not understanding until now just how much––

Right. If he didn't carry on with this conversation, he'd give _everything_ away. And he couldn't afford to do that.

Hurriedly scouring for any excuse available to him, Charles found something that was as decent as it was going to get, "But I like to have the heavy luggage back and unpacked before they get here."

"I suppose––" Before they knew it, William was barreling toward them, the movement tactless enough to stop the butler in his tracks. His arm inched toward Mrs. Hughes, not wanting her to be accidentally injured by the boy's foolishness. Objects could always be repaired or replaced; she could not. But before he could do anything else, the footman's steps forced him back. Much as that vexed the older man, it had to have been for the best that he hadn't reached out. "Steady, William. This isn't a race!"

Yes, doubtlessly, it was for the best that it'd gone as it did.

At least, that was what Charles told himself.

"Poor lad."

The murmur brought him back to reality, reminding him as to why the boy would be acting as such. William's mother had just passed, after all. "But did he see her? I was worried when I took him to King's Cross."

She nodded, eyes cast off in an bemused direction, "Yes, he had time to say goodbye."

_Which is the best we can ask for, in those situations._ And though Charles had the urge to look at her, wondering what was the best he could ask for in _this_ situation, he needed to look away –– turning to focus his eyes in the direction William had gone. These thoughts of his, these questions, were much too much. Yes, he felt fondness for the woman, having known that for years. That he was beginning to realize how important she was, how empty life could be without her, how different everything truly was when she wan't around... well, he didn't know if he wanted to continue treading through those thoughts, not when nothing could be done. "How is he now?"

"Well, you've only got one mother, haven't you?"

_And only one Elsie Hughes,_ he noted through his pained smile, unable to help himself.

When they were interrupted only seconds later, Gwen timidly informing the senior servants of the family's arrival, Charles felt strangely disappointed. This interruption was an opportunity to set aside this whole bewildering business once more and a chance to witness the grand return of the family –– something he always took great pride in.

Why, then, did the man feel as though he missed his own grand opportunity?

_._

Elsie Hughes had long since forgotten about any offers to take over errands ever since she became swept up in life at the house during the Season. That she'd also become engulfed in a peculiar feeling –– an absence of some kind, one that didn't disappear no matter what she was doing –– had left the woman off-balanced.

For the first time in a while, she felt genuinely incompetent. At least, when it came to fending off this disconcerting emptiness. Oh, yes, there were menial tasks that had kept her busy, issues that stilted any personal grief. She'd even managed to figure out why Mr. Carson had made those offers in the first place: it had to have been something involving the family. She'd spent a sleepless evening whittling through the possibilities of what might've prompted such abnormal suggestions, deduced it couldn't really be about her, and came to a realization that there really could only be one explanation.

There had to have been something involving Lady Mary. She was the only person Mr. Carson would walk through hell for, the one individual he treasured above all others. How Elsie fit into this equation, why her errands had mattered in the first place, she couldn't say for sure. However, when the woman finally grasped a sliver of the butler's motivations, she found–– she found––

She found that that wretched absence of hers, that _emptiness_ , had returned full-fledged.

Oh, it'd snuck off for a while when she'd considered that Mr. Carson might've been offering to take care of her errands solely because he wanted to. But there was no logic behind that, no rationale that would give the thought credence. And when she considered all the other reasons the butler could've made the propositions –– and, no, it was hardly likely that Joe Burns was involved; that was a far fetched notion her mind had brewed to life another night when she felt far too lost –– the woman could only presume she had nothing to do with it. That she was reading more into it than was necessary, an action she never cared to do.

So, Elsie let go of the matter and watched as that absence seeped back into her veins. Noticed as she found it easier to detach from the world, to recall each and every task normally swept under the carpet. With this knowledge, it had become easier to do her best work and excel, regaining that capability that allowed this household to maintain its standards.

With such standards, with such capability, the fulfillment left. Nothing to bask in, nothing to share with others. Only a duty to perform, something to perfect.

All of those feelings dissipated when his hand accidentally brushed up against hers in the hallway, the butler having just arrived only moments ago. Mr. Carson looked to be oblivious to the incident, continuing to attentively listen as she spoke, yet she still felt something rather nice at the contact. Something she didn't question, something she hardly noticed until they'd finally separated and that emptiness came back.

Yes, well, a little affection for an old and dear friend wasn't unheard of. Especially considering she'd not seen him in quite some time.

So, why, then, did it feel as though it was more than "a little affection"?

_._

Charles had been lucky throughout his first two offers of service.

It was the third that knocked all that luck aside.

This was quite possibly because, unlike the previous ones, this offer hadn't come from wanting to protect the woman's reputation or keep her away from unnecessary gossip. This had purely been because he wanted to see a weight taken off her shoulders, wishing to be a cause of relief, if not contentment, with her.

And if this was the only way he could fulfill that wish, then so be it.

"Mr. Carson," Of course, that had been before he'd made the offer. Now the man was realizing that volunteering on today of all days had been a mistake.

The garden party wasn't all that far away and there was a newfound tension what with Mrs. Crawley's unexpected baby. There was also the decision about Bates as well as Mrs. Patmore continued health issues –– in retrospect, he should've known better than to offer anything. Luckily, she didn't look irritated with him. Merely determined to get to the heart of the matter.

"Mr. Carson," She repeated, ensuring he was focused solely on the conversation before brusquely continuing, "I'll not deny it: I expected any strife of Lady Mary's to have been sorted out by now. But, whether it has or not, please, remember that you can, _in fact_ , trust me to keep it a secret."

"Lady Mary?" Fear struck his heart, swiping away any thought of those incessant gossips. How could he not know something was wrong with Lady Mary? "What do you mean?"

Her temper flickered, tersely tracing her tone, "I can only suppose there's something wrong with Lady Mary when you insistently on keeping me out of the Village! Though how I fall into all of this, I hardly know!"

Oh, she didn't understand. She thought him panicked about a Crawley scandal, nothing else. Right. He had a choice to make –– continue a broaching a subject he wasn't entirely sure of or play the part of the oblivious fool, much like his days on the stage.

It may have been cowardice at its worst, but the choice was simple: "Like what?"

It was a wonder he and Grigg had gotten anywhere –– their antics and skills, though mildly amusing at the time, were hardly worthy of paid performances on the stage. Perhaps that was why Grigg resorted to stealing by the end of that brief career.

"Mr. Carson," The man was skating on thin ice. Why else would her cadence be so crisp, her lilt strengthening into a brogue as she repeated his name once more? "I must insist you tell me what on earth is going on."

Charles' heart ached to keep playing this charade, to step around the conversation and wait for someone to interrupt them as was the custom. Yet the longer she waited him out, the closer he came to understanding that they had to talk. Whatever else, Elsie really did ought to know the truth –– at least about the Village.

There he went calling her Elsie again, tripping past decorum and stumbling into abhorrently dangerous waters.

Well, at least he hadn't called her that aloud.

"Mr. Carson?" The butler stiffened, hoping that he hadn't been mistaken. He really didn't need to make matters worse by letting her Christian name slip past his lips. "I sincerely hope you're not of the belief I need to be protected from the world –– seeing as how nothing could be further from the truth."

Right.

Yes, it was a relief to know he hadn't slipped when it came to names.

But if he didn't tell her the truth about those gossips then he really was the fool he felt himself to be.

"You're right, Mrs. Hughes." The man's hands twitched, fumbling with the air whilst they rested by his sides, wearily coming to a stop only when he sighed. "You don't need any protection."

"Does that mean you'll be explaining yourself?"

Charles sighed, loathing how this all wound up. This conversation lacked elegance and certainty, two things he tended to crave most in life. Still, it could be worse. And if he were lucky, they would only discuss his offers to help. His loneliness during the Season –– for, yes, he now understood it for what it was –– would hopefully go amiss in this discussion, as did the disheartening conclusions that came with it. "Yes."

When the housekeeper carried on looking at him in disbelief, having expected none of this capitulation, he only looked at her pointedly. "Mrs. Hughes, am I right in presuming you'll persist in finding everything out, whether I explain myself or not?"

"You are."

He nodded, having known as such. "Then I suppose it's time to give the whole sordid tale away." _Or, rather, the part relating to the gossips and the likes._

"'Sordid tale'?" An eyebrow quirked, amusement colouring her disposition as she took her seat –– making sure to shut the door before doing so. "Well, now I must know everything!"

Charles sent her a look of mild frustration, not caring to be teased in the midst of these proceedings. He then glanced at the table in her sitting room, recognizing the irony at once. Here he sat more than a year ago, listening to her cryptically reveal the tale of Joe Burns and her second proposal. She hadn't meant to put him on the edge of his seat with her vague words and her broken sentimentality.

But she had. Her words haunted him for days afterwards.

And now he was to tell her the impacts of that tale, the conclusion she'd never been a witness to.

"I could always refrain from regaling you with these horrors, you know," The man lightly chided her, even as he took his own seat at the table. She faintly smiled at this, subconsciously biting her lip in anticipation of seeing what would happen next. There was no doubt he would hold to his word despite the threat, but what exactly would that bring? Was she really so sure she wanted these answers? If it turned out she truly meant nothing in the grand scheme of this tale, would that answer leave her as depressed as most of the summer had?

Well, whether she really wanted to know or not, she would be finding out soon enough.

Giving her another chance to escape, knowing she'd say no, Charles resigned himself to giving away this tale. The stories themselves, the insinuations of the tellers, everything. Much as he might've once held things back, he couldn't do that today. Not today and never with her, not if he was being entirely honest. He could beat around the bush, he could hopelessly stammer his way out of a situation.

But if she needed to know something he would eventually have to share.

By the end of his account, she was not amused. Disappointed that Joe would behave as such, irritated that others believed him to be true, especially when she herself had worked hard to maintain a respectable reputation. And, strangely enough, touched that Mr. Carson had been so concerned.

It now made perfect sense as to why the butler had been so horrified, so avoidant when it came to elaborating. He had to have been scandalized by the very thought of such disgrace, quite probably trying his best to stop her from carrying on with errands so as to save the family from any further trouble. Though, if people were content to clutch at gossip for more than a year, there was nothing to be gained by running away. And, more importantly, "Surely, you know none of it's true?"

"Of course I do!"

Right then. Now she was confused. "Then why this? Why offer to take over my errands and nothing more? If such an incident continued to harm the family's reputation, you only had to ask me to leave –– not lock me away in the attic."

In all honesty, she didn't want to leave Downton Abbey. Not only was it a matter of supporting Becky, but there was also the fact that she'd grown roots here. Roots she didn't want to tactlessly destroy, roots that would relentlessly tear at her if she ever had to walk away.

However, roots or not, Elsie Hughes would always prefer leaving to being boxed up and out of sight.

"Ask you to leave? Why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you? If my 'sordid tale'," Mr. Carson may have flinched at her use of the term, but he'd been the one to bring it into this discussion, "Has been bringing shame to the family for so long, why should I remain at Downton?"

"That's not why I––" But admitting the real cause behind today's offer, one that he was only now beginning to grasp, was proving too monumental for the man. "Mrs. Hughes, your capability as housekeeper far outstrips any trivial gossip."

The unspoken sentiment, the understanding that he would never dream of asking her to leave Downton, drifted between them.

It dissipated before it reached the woman.

"Then why the proposa–– the propositions?" Elsie asked, needing to clarify, grateful he seemed to ignore her verbal mishap. "Why offer this help on three separate occasions?"

Charles was defensive, finding his legitimate answer to be unacceptable, given the circumstances. Eventually, grappling for something to settle on, he weakly gave up what felt like a pathetic scrap of reasoning: "I didn't care for the implications."

"Neither do I. But I've found implications tend to carry little bearing on my work. Why then, Mr. Carson, should I go to pieces over it?"

Now the man was becoming genuinely defensive, "I haven't gone to pieces over it!"

"No, I suppose you haven't." That was something she could concede that as truth. No doubt, if it really had been the blessed Lady Mary facing such a scandal, he really would have gone to pieces. Or to war, depending on his mood. With her, on the other hand, it'd only been these attempts to fend off any interaction with the gossips in question –– a gesture that had confused and vexed her, but one she now understood. He hadn't wanted to box her up. He'd only been doing what he thought he needed to in order to help.

If Elsie hadn't known the man, the gesture would come off as frustratingly patronizing. But she did know him. And, so, she knew better than to assume as such. Still, there was one matter to resolve: "Really, there's no reason it should bother you like this."

"A woman of your respectability and character should not have to tolerate such treatment!"

She gave a laugh at this, finding his impassioned statement endearing. That his hand had even gone so far as to smack against the table in protest, resting there in dissatisfaction, only prompted more endearment on her behalf. His staunch morals were another part of the butler's nature that she'd long since accepted, being far more charming than some of the other parts of his personality. "There you go, raising the tone of this household again, Mr. Carson."

"I'm not joking, Mrs. Hughes."

Of course he wasn't. This was Charles Carson, after all.

"I know you aren't. But, surely," She hadn't intended to reach out, letting one of her hands cup his. It had felt natural, unquestionable even, but she hadn't intended it in the slightest –– the movement interrupting her words, silencing the conversation. "I'm sor––"

That his other had moved to stop her from retreating, from retracting the sentiment and pretending nothing had happened, stunned her beyond measure.

"Don't be." The touch felt pleasant, surprising, much like the first time Elsie had witnessed electricity bring light to a house. There were new sensations to explore with this. The smoothness of his skin pressed against his, for instance. The way her hand melded so perfectly into his. "Please."

She couldn't help but gape a little, fully taken with the situation. That the exhaustion lining her body was easing away at the touch, that her hand was tightening in his grasp –– wanting this as much as he if not more –– only convinced the pair to let everything else fade away.

"Elsie," Charles looked up in shock, baffled about the fact that he'd slipped thrice now when it came to her Christian name –– this time, bringing it out into the open.

She regarded him in turn, bemused once more but willing to let old assumptions fall apart.

"Yes, Charles?" To utter his Christian name at last, to let each letter roll off her tongue, to bask in the clarity now running through her –– well, whatever this was, she was all for giving it a go!

And, judging from the fact that he looked just as comprehending, just as willing to give this all a chance, she could only presume she was not alone in this endeavour.

"It really is ridiculous," He began to state, glancing back down to observe their hands, to confirm this was truly happening. She wasn't letting go and he could finally start to admit he didn't want her to. Not now, preferably never. "The sort of gossip one hears."

"You can certainly say that again." Elsie murmured, quietly enthralled by the sight resting on the table.

"It really is ridiculous the sort of gossip one hears." Charles dutifully followed the unintentional instruction, harmless mirth sneaking into the words. Even with the pointed look now being shot off in his direction, he had no regrets. The jest served its purpose, reminding them both that –– whatever else life was altering for them –– there was nothing to be feared.

"It is," She lightly agreed, even as her eyes regally bored into his, a furtive amusement ruining her attempt at maintaining a stern glare. "I suppose we ought to put a stop to it altogether."

"Oh? And what, exactly, are you suggesting?"

"Well, I've an idea or two," Elsie began, a playfulness flitting about the air.

_Of that, I'm sure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kid you not: practically every time I revise a chapter involving these two, it gets just a bit more romantic! Which isn't saying much in the grand scheme of romance stories, but still. As my favorite Southern country doctor would say, "Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor, not a writer of romance!".
> 
> And, yes, as you probably surmised from that ending –– although we could leave this story at that, chances are I'm gonna end up staying up past my bedtime yet again and find further inspiration.
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoyed it and that you have a lovely day!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have those moments where you were going to write a cute little 300 word segment to wrap up a lovely story and then it turns into a lot more? In other words, get prepared for some fluff, angst, and, yeah, probably shouldn't spoil today's show any further.
> 
> Also! Although I have a great fondness for Thomas after everything, this takes place in the Series 1 era. Therefore, the characters' opinions of him won't be flattering. Just a heads up for any Thomas fans.
> 
> And finally! I'm going to try my best to remember all the British-isms of the English language ("s"s instead of "z"s in certain words, so on and so forth) just to see if I can actually remember everything. Here goes something!
> 
> Enjoy!

The idea of going into the Village together had come to mind. Also came the idea of holding much more than hands –– lips, each other, maybe even vows. Having been colleagues for more than a decade proved how much of a team they could be, how well they worked together and how suited to marriage they just might be, if given a chance.

And then her Ladyship miscarried.

And suddenly it felt wrong to hold onto anything, other than a sense of grief and duty.

_._

The grounds, the tables, the marquees –– everything carried an immaculate taste. The party as a whole exuded poise and elegance, having her style sketched out in every detail. Charles knew that as well as he knew the wine ledger, inwardly smiling as his eyes surveyed everything in sight.

"Well done, Mrs. Hughes. Beautifully executed, as always." _You did wonderfully, Elsie._ In this and practically every other regard, the woman excelled. It was one of the many reasons he'd been besotted with her from the start.

Not that he'd been able to admit that until recently.

"The key is in the planning." She informed him, the lightness of her tone telling the man that she knew well enough he was speaking of more than just the party.

The housekeeper didn't have to look at him to convey her own appreciation, knowing that anything else would lead to public impertinence. She may have wanted to express her own gratitude in her own fashion, by way of a subtle touch. Or, better yet, a kiss. But Elsie knew well enough to refrain from such actions.

Still, when Barrow crept over before anything else could be done, she felt frustrated with the footman. His presence was tolerable at best, as of late. And though he served as an excellent reminder to remain adamantly professional, that didn't mean she had to appreciate said reminder.

"Mr. Carson," Charles hadn't even realised Thomas was nearby, having been entranced with studying Elsie out of the corner of his eye. This was a rarity –– being able to openly drink in the sight of her looking so delighted. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend they were living in a world of their own. He could imagine this was _their_ party, their celebration. "This probably isn't the moment, but I've just heard from Dr. Clarkson: I've been accepted for a training scheme. For the army medical corps."

Elsie had respectfully turned her head away once Barrow gave his plot twist away, a whirlwind of thoughts ranging from irritation to disbelief. Thomas persuading others to let him serve in the army and escaping his troubles at Downton seemed an injustice. However, it was a relief to know that they would be rid of the plotter with little to no trouble at all.

"Have you indeed?" Oh, Charlie certainly sounded different. His timbre had lowered into that of what she referred to as his butler voice, an imperious version of his normal pitch. She secretly found that version to be rather distracting, in the best of ways, of course. Though she wouldn't dare to share _that_ anytime soon!

Yes, there were a great many things she could finally admit to liking about the man. Of course, it would probably take another age before she felt comfortable revealing any of them. The good news was, last time she checked, they had many years ahead to share in. Many years to become more comfortable with another and their sweet little ideas.

"Yes, and I want to do it." Oh, right. Thomas was still nearby, yapping away. "So, I'll be handing in my notice." _Surprise, surprise_. "I'll serve out the month, of course."

_Of that, I've no doubt._

"Thank you, Thomas. We can talk about it later." Charles had no desire to spoil a rare moment with Elsie, not when the whole subject was essentially managed. No, the man only wanted to enjoy this summer's day with the woman he loved.

So, it was with acute satisfaction that he dismissed the footman and went about doing just that.

"And _you_ couldn't have planned that any better, either!" To see her grinning in disbelief, to watch mirth tickle her face, he couldn't hold back his own pleased smile.

If they could stay like this forever, it wouldn't be enough.

_._

Elsie had seen it first, her eyes drawn to any spot of trouble after all these years. She'd even been the one to point it out to him, to watch as he strode over to Lady Mary in her torment. She wouldn't have done that before, wouldn't have bothered to mention the matter. After all, she remained persistent in the belief that the aristocrat took much too much advantage of everyone and always would.

Nevertheless, she knew how much he would be hurt if the blessed Lady Mary was left wallowing alone. No doubt this was a serious matter, judging from the incensed look of Matthew Crawley. And though she knew Charles would have found the the grieving Crawley daughter on his own –– though she knew the whole business would sort itself out with or without her help –– she couldn't pretend to be oblivious to the young woman's plight.

Not when Elsie knew how much it would hurt him.

She only wished he could hold her like that. Out in the summer's glow, where it wouldn't matter who saw them. Nothing that familial, but something that intimate. Something that gave her comfort. Much like the feel of his hand grasping hers or the taste of his lips brushing her own demons away.

_._

"Are you warm enough?"

Charles knew there was something urgent afoot. Bringing Lady Mary back into the world had led to discovering that there was news awaiting Downton. The thing was, when approaching his Lordship and Ladyship, he couldn't help but forget all about it. He could only observe the tender scene in front of him. Observe and wonder if he and Elsie would ever share a similar moment.

Not the grief, of course. Grief was inherent in life, he'd learnt that a long time ago. No, it was the affection he craved to share with her. The affection and the solace.

"I am when you're holding my hand."

The metal shifted in his grasp, sharply reflecting the sun's glow. It reminded him of his task, prompting the servant to speak, "Your Lordship? This has just arrived for you."

"Thank you."

Of course, regardless of what his Lordship was receiving, Charles had his own news to share, "Oh, and I'm happy to tell you that Thomas had just handed in his notice. So, we'll be spared any unpleasantness on that score."

"What a relief."

The butler didn't hold back his pleased smirk, relieved that the whole mess had been handled. Nor did his employer, for that matter. Both men were happy the situation had been dealt with, content to focus on what they found to be the real priorities in life.

As Charles turned back, all he could think was how lucky he was. Another beautiful party working out marvelously, another day in the company of the woman he loved. One of the more frustrating parts of his job would be walking out the door in just a month and––

"Please, will you stop, please!"

He had reached Elsie seconds before those dreaded words struck the air.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Can I ask for silence?"

This could not be good.

"Because I very much regret to announce," Without another word, Charles grimly realised that he had been the bearer of grave news. "That we are at war with Germany."

He'd been a fool to think himself lucky.

_._

War.

With _Germany._

There'd been talk of it, of course. Rumours and worries. Ones that her mind often drifted through when it all began. But she'd been too pragmatic to let it get in the way of her job, refusing to allow those fears to take hold of her.

However, in light of his Lordship's announcement, she couldn't deny the facts.

Nor could she deny that, much to her growing disappointment, everything had to change.

The party had concluded for some time now, but she felt as though the sun were still glaring down at her –– reminding her how helpless she truly was. She could pull off a party well enough, plan every detail to perfection, execute the thing as best she could, and still had no control over the world. She'd lost that control instantaneously.

_Not_ that she'd ever really had control, not in the first place.

Still. There'd been moments where she thought she was finally getting a grasp on life. Maintaining a highly respectable position, talking through those little ideas with Charles, occasionally grasping fulfillment, it had felt as though she was getting somewhere at last.

It only figured none of it was meant to be.

It had been sweet, touching even, that Charles had leapt to her defense over those tales from before. The man trying his best to shield her from the slander went beyond camaraderie. He carried something for her. Something that'd been enough to trust the situation, enough to indulge in a few ideas and consider the possibilities.

She could only assume all of that would vanish now. He would shield only the house, he would leapt solely to the defense of the family. Propriety would seep back into their conversations and those walls from before would rise once more.

Elsie might've been able to handle the experience before. But with a newfound hope that'd been given to her just days before, she was finding the whole situation to be unusually difficult. As it was, she could barely excuse herself at the appropriate moment, citing the need to go over some things in her sitting room. She felt ridiculous for needing to escape the situation, thinking these feelings of her to border on the histrionic.

But she couldn't deny the existence of said feelings.

Nor could she deny that she'd scurried back to her sitting room the moment she could.

It was foolish, but the housekeeper had to regain her composure in peace. Sift through the facts on her own and surmise the best course of action in solitude. At the very least she needed to leave behind today's panic and focus again simply on the facts.

Fact 1: They were at war.

Fact 2: The atmosphere at Downton had already begun to change, and this was only the start.

Fact 3: These days had yet to reach their darkest.

_Right._ She wouldn't tell Ch–– Mr. Carson that these ideas of theirs had been a mistake, not right away. Yes, it was silly to continue on as though nothing had changed. Nevertheless, she was content to pretend their relationship, whatever wonderful thing it had become lately, wasn't about to dissolve under the weight of war. At least for another day, if not another week. Yes, when it was time to calmly come to terms with the situation, she would be ready.

Unfortunately, it seemed God had different timing in mind: a familiar knock sounded.

Elsie contemplated pretending to be busy but gave that up in a heartbeat. She knew such a lie would not only be unfair, it would set a cruel tone for their future. Instead, she steeled herself and bade the butler in.

_._

Charles had wanted to talk with her from the moment he'd heard chilling announcement. It seemed, after all his attempts to protect her from the worst parts of the world, it was she who shielded him. It was she who reassured him just with a look, giving him the chance to remember that this would work out for the best.

And she really was the only one who could do that.

Letting his favourite of the Crawley daughters cry on his shoulder, being a pillar of strength for Lady Mary, had been a privilege. It had also left him terribly drained, longing for a familiar embrace, something to give him his own strength to keep carrying on.

And when his Lordship had made that horrid announcement, his need for her only expanded.

But by the time he'd had the time to step away from everything, she disappeared from sight. Belatedly, the man realised she'd cited something about needing to sort some papers out, stepping away only once everything else had been taken care of.

Well, that decided it.

Eventually, he found an opportune time to slip away from the proceedings. He knew everyone else would be too distressed by his Lordship's announcement to notice his absence. Frankly, even if someone had noticed, he wasn't in the mood to care.

Soon enough, he was in front of her door, knocking away and hoping she would let him in.

When she'd done as such without protest, Charles thought everything was fine. But then he'd gotten a good look at the tension radiating throughout her and knew she was reeling from the shock of it all, much like himself.

"Elsie," He'd meant to begin much more formally. But the door was shut and the sight of her so overwhelmed had him drop propriety at once.

"Please," Speaking her Christian name appeared to be too much for the woman; she was going so far as to take a step back. "Ch–– Mr. Carson,"

He stiffened in confusion as the housekeeper straightened up, that lip of hers worrying itself away. What had happened? Had something terrible occurred in the minutes she'd been left to her own devices?

"Please," She repeated. Did he catch trickles of desperation in her voice? "Don't pretend _that_ can still work, not now."

_._

So much for waiting.

Or for approaching this as calmly as she could.

Mind, Elsie wouldn't have been able to stand it if the whole mess had been drawn out. She also should've known better than to assume she could be calm about this. Perhaps had he given her enough time to think through and understand what needed to happen, this conversation would have been easier. But she'd only had enough time to breathe, nothing more.

If she were being candid, there never would have been enough to think this matter through.

But, enough of that –– he was seconds from voicing his inevitable question.

"What do you mean, 'don't pretend _that_ can still work'?"

_Please, don't make me spell it out._

When it was clear he hadn't a clue as to what was going on, Elsie knew there was only one thing for it.

"Don't you see?" The housekeeper kept a tight hold on her patience, trying to ignore the confused hurt in his eyes. She loathed to be the cause of it, but this was better than the alternative. Better to face the facts before regret and resentment had a chance to build up. "Everything's changed now."

"Just what are you saying?"

Was he being intentionally obtuse?

Biting back a scoff, doing her best to say this next bit with a measured tone, "I'm saying we cannot go back to the way things were. Now, if you'll excuse me,"

She had nowhere to go, nowhere official at least. But she'd had plenty of experience with improvisation –– she would be able to come up with a decent excuse if pressed.

The only problem was that he hadn't budged from his spot, blocking her path. "I'm afraid I can't."

"Can't you?" Really, this needn't be a scene out of a penny dreadful. She'd acknowledged the truth and now it was time to move on, to let go of this before it became any worse. But the butler refused to move, in every sense of the word. "Not until you tell me what you mean."

_You impossible man!_

Elsie crossed her arms at this, vehemently disapproving of his obstinacy. There would be enough coming their way as it was, they needn't persist in dragging this out and adding it to the mix.

"Elsie," She tried her best to ignore her reaction to her Christian name, wishing Joe Burns had never crawled out of the woodwork. If he'd left her well alone, she wouldn't have to reject him again and then Ch–– _Mr. Carson. It has to be Mr. Carson now_ –– wouldn't have thought her reputation needed defending. "Please, why can't we go back?"

When she couldn't give an answer, he tried another question, "Whatever happened to before? Don't you still have an idea or two?"

Arms tightened, that bottom lip of hers becoming fiercely bitten. Those ideas of theirs had been a lovely dream, she could admit that. But those ideas wouldn't last now, they hadn't enough of a foundation. They weren't steadied by time, they hadn't been given the chance to grow, and this war would only destroy them.

She could see it now. He would work himself past the brink of exhaustion, demanding perfection in every detail despite the fact that they wouldn't be able to afford it. She wouldn't be able to reach him, unable to do anything but her job. And that old numbness would flourish, right alongside a fierce resentment. Maintaining standards, ensuring the family thrived despite the circumstances of the era, that would take precedence over anything else.

And it would guarantee the ruin of this little dream of theirs.

It wouldn't matter if this war lasted weeks, months, or years –– it would do enough damage.

"Mr. Carson," Elsie saw the irony at once: here she was being the one clutching onto propriety whilst he remained vexingly incorrigible. "What do you suppose will happen over the coming months?"

"I suppose we'll all be asked to play our parts in this. But, Elsie," Why was this foolish man still clinging to her name? "Surely you realise I won't be able to fight? My only role will be to serve Downton."

_Of course I realise that!_ "And that's my point, C–– Mr. Carson!" Her lilt cracked a little, along with her resolve to maintain these necessary formalities. "How do you suppose you'll feel knowing that? Knowing that you'll be stuck here serving his Lordship instead of King and Country?"

The _stuck here with me_ remained unspoken.

But there was something in his silence, a proof he'd heard everything.

_Finally._ His continued hush was demonstrating that her words had finally reached the man. It had taken more elaboration than she'd liked, but still. So long as she got her point across. Maybe now he would finally allow her to leave and drop the subject altogether.

Taking another step forward, having assumed the butler would let her pass at last, Elsie had been surprised to find herself gently colliding into him. She blinked back her confusion, stilling when hands had reached out to softly grasp her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks.

_._

"Elsie," He could see her own pain flare up at the sound, but he needed to get his own point across. And Charles couldn't do that if she thought she had to keep running away from him. It did hurt to think she was so overwhelmed she thought giving up on them was for the best.

But as he looked into those eyes once more, he saw flickers of something. Something that told him she hadn't actually given up on them.

Not really.

"Elsie," Charles repeated, thankful she had accepted his touch. It meant he could still reach her. "Elsie, do you think I'll come to resent you? See you as a reminder for something I can no longer do?"

"Won't you?"

It was quietly asked, the unspoken insecurity breaking through. Really, they needed to have a proper talk about those insecurities of hers some day. He knew he had his own issues; she wasn't alone in that regard. But, one day, he'd have to try his best to get the truth across.

Today, however, there was a different truth that needed saying.

"Knowing that I'd be here with you at Downton," The answer had been obvious ever since Lord Grantham's announcement. The words, however, were only now coming to mind. "I can't deny I'll feel undeniably, _selfishly_ pleased."

"What?"

_Oh, thank God._ She was thrown off by his candour, giving him the chance to have her complete attention. There was none of her lingering insecurity –– she was too shocked for any of that, much to his relief.

The man continued without a moment's hesitation. "I might've felt guilt before. Not about serving his Lordship, of course," Her faint smile was sheepish, some of that tension from before leaking out. It only gave him the confidence to keep going, "But I've no doubt that I would have once felt guilty for not being able to serve in the more traditional sense."

Traditional for war, that is.

But if he deviated from the conversation at hand, if he allowed himself to be pulled away by a tangent, he would always regret it.

"However," Charles solemnly continued, praying Elsie would understand. If not today, then at some point in time. He couldn't force her to recognise his feelings, he wouldn't try to change her perspective on the matter. But he would do his best to explain himself, to say his piece if only because he needed to.

"However," The man softly repeated, needing another moment. "I cannot regret being given the privilege to stay here. Not if it gives me the chance to be with you.

"I won't deny that, however long this war lasts, it will be difficult. I won't always be agreeable. I can't promise to always see reason. And I can only assume that pragmatism will sometimes escape me. However, I do hope that these ideas of ours –– the idea of _us_ –– will outlast the war."

_._

Elsie hadn't thought of it like that. Hadn't thought this had a chance of trudging past the horrors yet to come. Hadn't realised he would _want_ to do just that, that he would feel this way after everything.

"Well now," She felt as light as a feather, her mind still spinning from his admission, "I suppose there's nothing I can say to change your mind?"

"Not a thing." He firmly confirmed. "But, I don't want to change _your_ mind. If this is how you feel about the matter," This next bit looked to pain the man, but he resolutely continued, "Then I will respect that."

To demonstrate, his hold on her loosened. He had been serious about respecting her wishes, going so far as to gently let go of her and take a step back.

The loss only confirmed her own feelings.

_._

"Charles," She'd reached for him the moment he'd let go, the sensation more consoling than hearing his Christian name. He couldn't bring himself to believe what was happening, not until he heard what she had to say. "I know I won't always want to listen. I can't promise to adhere to tradition. And I can only assume patience will sometimes escape me."

His eyes widened, his ears not sure they could be hearing this right, needing her to finish her thought.

"However,"

She'd somehow risen on her tiptoes in the midst of his stupor, the distance closing before either of them knew it.

"I'd _love_ for the idea of us to outlast the war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's official: I can't end a story on an angsty note. It just doesn't happen.
> 
> Also! I may have an epilogue-esque idea coming your way! It'll probably take a little bit but, regardless of that, I really hope you enjoyed today's update!
> 
> And, whatever the case may be, good luck to you wherever you are and have a lovely day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, as always, it's been a pleasure! Our last chapter for this will feature a certain Series 3 episode –– one which I'm fairly certain you'll all recognize within seconds.
> 
> Also! Because I've been obsessed with trying things out, instead of British-isms we'll be playing with a different grammar tense today. You'll see what I mean ;) :)
> 
> Enjoy!

She's fumbling with her scarf when the knock sounds. It's less of a request and more of a plea, but it doesn't take her eyes from the mirror. Nor does the intrusion force the woman to give permission. She merely fixes a pleasant smile on her face in lieu of a greeting, inwardly sighing as the door opens.

"Going out?"

She doesn't nod at the question. Doesn't really have the energy to do so. She appreciates the sentiment of being checked in on, especially given how much has changed. But said appreciation is worn out; it craves to be left alone.

"Just into the Village." She can feel the concern rising as her tone remains clipped, her eyes glued to the reflection. But there's only so much of this burden she can share, and her capacity to share has been dwindling ever since March. "I–– I have to fetch something."

"Can I help?" Blue eyes break away from the mirror, surprised by the offer. "I'm going down later."

It's been a long time since she's been offered help when it comes to errands in the Village –– six years, in fact.

But though the offer is kind, she's not in a place to accept it.

"No, thank you." The severity of the day, the exhaustion of these last few months, has stolen her capacity to accept help. There really is no guarantee of anything with things like this, and she would be a fool to think otherwise. "This is an errand I have to do for myself."

Except, she doesn't have to be alone.

"Ready?"

She can't hold onto the tension of the last three months, not now. Charles is finally here, slipping past Beryl and heading straight for her. She'd known her man wouldn't abandon her at the last second, not today. But it is a comfort to know that they'll be together every step of the way, just as they promised at the start of the war.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

_._

The image of Beryl Patmore concernedly watching them depart is one Charles wants to be rid of. Honoured as he is to be accompanying Elsie –– to be by her side throughout all of this –– it very easily could have been him standing there, forced to stay behind.

Frankly, he can't stand the idea. He'd much rather focus on the gravel before them, and give her whatever she needs. Let her take the lead when it comes to holding one another's hands. Give her permission to stumble, to stop. Even if it might mean letting her go and see Dr. Clarkson by herself, Charles will do whatever he can to ease her burden.

"We can be sure of one thing," The entrance to the hospital lurks in sight. They're still stopped on the curb, hesitant. She's not convinced it will work out and he knows it. She can send off as much cheek as she likes; it won't convince him of anything. "I won't be cured by standing here."

"Take your time, Elsie." It's quiet enough there's no chance of someone snatching the intimacy up. But she doesn't want to take any more time. She wants to surge forward, she despises how paralysing this fear has become.

But he's right.

And, this time, she's able to hear that.

When they walk into the hospital, it's together. Sitting down on the bench, waiting for the nurse to inform them it's time to hear the news, it's all together. He tries his best to support her just like before. To talk if she asks for it, to let her subtly lean against him only if she needs it. And when the nurse arrives at last, "I can wait here, if you'd like."

"Actually,"

Charles refuses to let astonishment pull at him as she begins to make her request. They may have trudged through the war together, but this is a personal battle. And seeing how the woman has a tendency for fierce independence, this request means more than he can possibly say.

"I'd appreciate it if––"

Elsie is truly more scared than she seems, uncharacteristically trailing off. On the other hand, there's no hesitation for Charles. Not when he knows what she's asking for, not when she's giving him this chance to take another step together.

"Of course."

_._

Dr. Clarkson truly is a considerate doctor, something Elsie can only grasp now. The physician gave them a few spare minutes to privately recover from the relief, a kindness they had taken full advantage of. Trembles and tears had been shared amongst other things in those minutes, the floor having given out on the pair ever since they'd been told the wonderful news.

They eventually regained their bearings, though they remained sat a little longer. Unfortunately, the two servants knew they couldn't take advantage of this respite for much longer, needing to return back to their responsibilities.

The problem is, she can barely walk out of the Village, needing to hold onto him more than what is appropriate. The world has been spinning for her for the last ten minutes –– she can only pray her shock isn't on display for any and all to see.

"It's been a long time since we had a night off."

Elsie's features crinkle with amusement, distracted by the remark. She spares a glance in the direction of his gesture, taking in the sight of a fair being set up in the heart of town. As she reaches his unspoken idea, the woman can't help but let a pithy remark fly: "I don't think we've ever given ourselves a night off."

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," His sheepishness turns into something a little more challenging as a familiar, acerbic gaze shoots out. "I believe there were a few nights in West Wittering––"

"Those," Elsie manages to get out, furiously blushing for the first time in ages. He's always on about propriety and yet here he stands, chatting up a storm about _that_. In public, no less! Just what were they coming to? "Were entirely different."

"Really, Mrs. Carson?" Charles will not hold back a grin as she steps away, letting go of him to put her hands on her hips. His wife is thoroughly mortified they're having this conversation in public and he's just happy they're finally able to breathe. "And why doesn't our honeymoon count?"

"Well," She huffs out, unable to compose an appropriate response. "A night spent at a fair is entirely different than a honeymoon, Mr. Carson."

Hers a repetitive argument –– if it can even be considered that –– and he loves it, relishing in this simple conversation. If he keeps it up, this talk will take her out of the Village in relative peace. This easy banter will distract her enough to keep her from falling apart in front of others, which is what prompted him to bring the subject up.

That, and the fact that he's been wanting to redeem her last visit to the fair for _years_.

"Oh, really?" His tone is inordinately flippant, daring to risk a lecture. He can see her eyes threaten to roll in exasperation, ignorant to the fact that they're minutes away from getting out of here.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I find that difficult to believe, Mrs. Carson." There she goes huffing again. If he's lucky, he'll be able to bring back that lovely glare and keep it on him for the next minute.

"Well, it is entirely different, I'll tell you." Charles nods with just enough of a knowing gleam in his eyes that she's finally rolling her own in response.

"Right. I think there's only one way you'll be able to convince me."

"And what's that, Mr. Carson?"

"I'm afraid," The shops are vanishing from sight, the chatter of the Village leaving them. They're technically safe. She can let go and stop pretending to be all right. But the man wants to keep this light air for as long as he possibly can, "You'll have to take me there and show me what you mean, Mrs. Carson."

"Will I now?"

He solemnly nodded, a twinkle blazing away in his eyes as he delightedly repeats, "I'm afraid so."

"And is there anything else I'll have to do, Charles?" It seems she is well aware of the fact that they're alone, never losing sight of their surroundings. He's not really surprised, but he is tickled to see her still indulging in this conversation, teases of all sorts tracing her tone.

"Well, now that you mention it," The man's doing his best not to grin, trying to maintain a straight face for this next bit. But he knows it won't matter either way, not really. "I've an idea or two…"

_Of that, I'm sure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** My headcanon for this story (if such a thing can exist for fanfics) is that they go to many fairs and festivities from here on out. That they do have their ups and downs but it all goes as it should.
> 
> If you're curious as to why the story ends at this part in the show: we started off with Elsie surprising Charles during one of his more bewildered moments; it felt right to end with the reverse. Moreover, I kid you not –– both the cancer scare and the fair happen in May (as well as the wedding, if you can believe it)! So, seeing as how that fair sparked this story, it seemed fitting to end on another fair coming into town.
> 
> Oh and one more thing! They officially go to Brighton in the show, but the beach scene is filmed at West Wittering. And so, to honor that, I had to mention it.
> 
> In any case, as always, good luck with everything and have a lovely day!
> 
> **Bonus Scene** (because I love this moment way too much to leave it out) ––
> 
> "Well?" Charles didn't expect to be accosted by Mrs. Patmore the moment they came back. He knew Elsie would need a moment to recover before she could enter the house, that made perfect sense. An interrogation by the cook? That hadn't been a thought. "Is it or isn't it?"
> 
> This really should be something that Elsie shares. But Charles knows how much Mrs. Patmore has helped the housekeeper throughout this, and he knows what it's like to have answers just out of reach. "It's not cancer, no."
> 
> He briefly goes on to explain that the cyst was benign, thanking the heavens that this is the case. She looks as consoled as he feels, sighing in relief as she makes a request: "Don't mention that you've said anything, Mr. Carson. I want her to tell me in her own time."
> 
> _So, why ask?_ Except, he does understand. "I won't say a word."
> 
> After that, they share a look that he doesn't quite understand and he's shooed out of the kitchen –– being ushered back toward his pantry.
> 
> But he can't linger there, not when she hasn't come in yet.
> 
> There's a breeze welcoming him back as he steps outside. His beautiful wife is leaning against the brick wall, finally letting the cracks in her composure widen. He stands by her side in quiet comfort, content to let her lead him once again. If she wants to converse, he'll do just that. If she needs a placid hush, that can happen, too.
> 
> "Did you tell her?"
> 
> Conversation it'll be.
> 
> But answering this will result in breaking his promise to Mrs. Patmore –– something his morals won't allow him to do.
> 
> She sees this at once, changing tactics.
> 
> "Let me rephrase that," And with another tease flickering in her lilt, "Did you put the poor woman out of her misery?"
> 
> This, he can say yes to.
> 
> "Good."
> 
> That seems to be the end of any and all conversation. Certainly, the atmosphere returns to a gentle silence. He can almost forget the last three months when they're like this, basking in the refreshing peace.
> 
> That is, until Elsie sends him one more look.
> 
> That's when he wants to know what exactly is on her mind.
> 
> "One last question, Mr. Carson." The way her lilt rolls through his surname causes him to shiver even as the man tries to remain some form of dignity.
> 
> "Yes, Mrs. Carson?" He'll go back to calling her Mrs. Hughes when the others are around. In this moment, he refuses to call his wife anything else.
> 
> "Would you be so kind as to put _this_ poor woman out of her misery?"
> 
> Charles originally thinks she only wants an embrace or a chance to hold hands, something to keep her steady.
> 
> She's more than happy to prove him wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to go to bed earlier, because these sorts of stories are the results when I don't. I'm leaving it completed for now. But, strangely enough, I think I've got an idea for at least one more chapter. We'll see.
> 
> Either way, yes, I totally just put aside Mary's Series 1 diplomatic scandal aside in favor of a different sort of scandal. And I'll tell you why:
> 
> Rewatching that little scene yesterday, there was something about the way he was looking at her. I know, in canon, Charles is thinking about Mary's strife. But the way he was acting had me think, "My goodness, this conversation could totally be about something else, something involving Elsie."
> 
> And, thus, the brief plot bunny that kept me up past my bedtime.
> 
> In any case, as always, I hope you enjoyed this and have a lovely day!


End file.
